


Punishment Game

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Endverse, spn-kmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 08:30:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt on the k-meme:<br/><a href="http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/72117.html?thread=26475957#t26475957">Here</a></p><p>Alastair not having died, meeting up with future!Castiel who's strung out and psychotic after a bad drug trip, Alastair being sadistic towards future!Castiel who turns out to have a huge masochistic streak, details of their really, really messed up relationship, bonus points for torture with needles, pushing Castiel's ability/inability to heal to its limits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punishment Game

Alistair's new body is female.

She came into camp on a refugee wagon, an elderly woman who passed all the tests by intimidating even the hardered soldier Dean Winchester has become. She unsettled him, but didn't give her true nature away. The speech patterns almost outed her before she'd caught herself, but the promise she'd seen in Castiel's eyes-- Castiel who knew immediately what she was, WHO she was-- had motivated her to adjust her angle of attack.

She stands here now, interrupting an orgy by saying in her best simpering old lady voice, "Did you have some kind of medicine I could take for my fibro myalgia? I- I was told you were the doctor, in camp."

Castiel feels a strange exhilaration not unlike arousal as he knowingly makes himself vulnerable, sending off the others and telling them he'll be spending a while seeing to the comfort of this new refugee. He even puts up a do not disturb sign (not that Dean ever acknowledges those) on the wall outside his bead curtain.

They don't talk: they don't need to, there's a hatred so pure and old that they can understand everything they need to by looking at each other. Alistair does laugh, as she effortlessly overpowers him, crushes him down to the floor with false-frail arms in a headlock to cut off his air. She chokes Castiel until his vision is swimming and his scrabbling fingers start to get weak against her fragile-skinned forearm.

While he's weakened, she slams him face-first into the floor. Again; again; eight times, until his nose is definitely broken and his forehead is split, just a little. He silently accepts the hot swell of a black eye, panicked by the dizzy drowsiness that slips into him as a result of head trauma.

She slices his clothing away with a box-cutter, doubtless salvaged, given its rusty edge. She intentionally catches his skin, leaving little measured slashes all over both of his arms.

She promises him reconciliation, encourages him to confess, and after the first hour begins to blur into the next two he shakily does so, his voice quivering out of confusion as much as fear. He admits everything to her, everything he can remember, all the wrong things he's done, all the suspicion he's faced as the faulty angel, the one who might fail or fall. She is flaying off the skin of his back, inch by inch, as he tells her this, between his deep, shaky breaths and his wordless, involuntary pleas for help.

He can't fix it; after the initial discovery, she seems to delight all the more in making him hurt, knowing that it will last.

She is cruel, and he knows this, but not intimately. Not until:

"Even I can't send you back."

The answer is long in coming, drowned out by the tension of suffering that fills the room, the ragged rhythm of Castiel's labored breathing, the vibrations of shaking, straining muscles. He tries, fails but tries to keep the tone light, says, "You could kill me."

Alistair makes a soft, hurt noise and crouches down, the woman's body that it now wears wearing a parody expression of sorrow, and strokes Castiel's undamaged cheek gently, so gently. She presses a kiss to Castiel's dry and desolate lips.

Tears seep out, unbidden, even before she voices her answer.

"I could."

He can't move to stop her, as she smiles without humor and leaves the cabin. Someone will find him before sundown, and there are enough medical supplies in camp. Castiel will live.

He begs the air where she stood only once. "Please--!"

Then he waits for the inevitable, weeping.

**Author's Note:**

> Unedited and written at 3am, but I felt this was the worst thing Alistair could do to Endverse Cass. May come back and try to add to it later but I don't want to make a promise, fail to keep it, and disappoint.


End file.
